


Gilded and Rouge

by Wristic



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bondage, Choking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Knifeplay, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wristic/pseuds/Wristic
Summary: A good year has passed since Vikings have landed and started their pillaging. The quiet farm girl you are, dreams of something greater have long since been abandoned and perhaps not for the worst, as you’re captured in a raid and made a slave. A slave to the Viking leader no less.





	1. Chapter 1

In a hard grasp your hand came above the wooden panel of the railing, scrapping in pale yellow lines up the wood. He thrusted faster, hands gripping tightly on your hips as hazel brown eyes watched you writhe and try desperately to keep quiet. The barn house was far from people, but neither of you needed the most common of consequences in a small village, rumors.

Looking down between you two Oswin hammered his way in, each full sheath to the hilt hitting the very end of you. Crying out could have been the only release of it’s delicious torment and yet being forced to hold back had its own polarized pleasure. Too distracted with muffling yourself, you jolted when his fingers came to the bundle of nerves past your mound. In moments white ecstasy blinded behind your eyes. Instinct had you pushing against his shoulder in some false attempt to get away from such an unbearable spike in pleasure. You felt the cry in your throat before it came. Covering your mouth in case some unfortunate soul happened to walk by. It did little to quiet you, hearing the high pitched shout echo in the empty building.

Oswin lasted a few more moments before going taunt and pulling out, spilling onto the blanket below you. Both of you went slack, you idling your fingers in his ruffled brown curls as Oswin’s forehead rested on your chest.

In a hard grunt he rolled to the side, splayed out on the blanket on top of stray hay and running a hand down his sweat-soaked chest. He groaned as he reached and rubbed his still tense stomach, “Oh I’m going to feel that in the morning.”

Enjoying the sun tanned beauty beside you heaving to catch his breath, you licked your teeth and chuckled. “Yes, what was that about being too wore out _before_ we started?”

He groaned again. “And I have to help father sow the wheat tomorrow.”

The silence in the hay barn drew out as you both caught your breath. In a last gulp Oswin wondering aloud. “Do you think we should be running?”

You combed and tugged at the roots of your hair, moaning in the small delight of the thousands of little stretches. “Hm?”

“I heard the Northmen we’re heading this way.”

You scoffed with a hard roll of your eyes. “Northmen are always heading this way. They’re also heading west and south and north. They’re everywhere and nowhere Oswin. We’re farmers. If we run, we’re not farming meaning we’ll die off or some other crap my father wants to preach to me. Anyway, what would be the point of running?”

He perked up, eyes alight with hope, “So you agree we should fight?”

All the air noisily deflated from your lungs and you stood, grabbing your blue dress and tossing it on, the annoyance moving you quick. “You want to pick up a sword Oswin, go ahead. Go to the capital of Mercia and beg the knights to take you in just so they can get a good laugh before tossing you in the mud.” Oswin rolled his eyes, falling back to his elbows. He’d heard this rant before from everyone, you knew, but the warnings never stuck. “And after a few more tries you’ll come back with your head down, and you’ll farm, because we’re just farmers. You think I didn’t dream once? Didn’t want to be a Princess and wonder about how I’d run a kingdom or which king I’d marry?”

Oswin shook his head. “Well… that’s different, that’s unrealistic-”

“Is it? Because you have to be born royal? Kind of like a, I don’t know, a knight?” He stubbornly chewed on his cheek, not bothering to help you tie the back. “It’s a child’s dream Oswin, and we’re not children anymore. You’d have better luck becoming a highwayman.”

It was cruel to be so brutal about your honesty, but everyone else kept beating around the bush, telling him ‘no’ in a way that still instilled hope. People used to do the same thing to you when you were growing into a woman, you having been obsessed with a similar dream of grandeur and a mind at peace from hunger or want. The only thing that brought you to reality was harshness, the painful honesty from your father. Oswin needed it before he did something he’d regret, but you sympathized all too well with his anger.

“Why can’t anyone just believe in me?! Why can’t we dream? Or try? So maybe I’ll be laughed at, so what!? Better than withering away in this small town where we argue for months over pigs and boundaries.” His fists were clenching, his body rigid like he could be a wall against your words.

In a huff your hands dully dropped from the fresh ties and clapped on your thighs. “So it’s better to whither away in the gutters of a castle instead?”

Bristled, Oswin stood, angrily pulling his trousers back on. “Forget it, you can’t understand.”

With a pitying shake of your head you straightened your dress. Before he could put on his shirt you gently glided your arms over his shoulders and entwined your fingers, locking him face to face. “Oswin. I was _haunted_ by the thought of being a princess as a child. Of golden crowns and fine dresses that could buy this whole town a hundred times over. Of embracing a conquering King in my arms and eating berry tarts in Grand Halls.” The soft tone calmed him, the dirtied white shirt fiddling between his fingers. “Rambler that my father is, he is right about those kinds of dreams. They’re a torment of Greed and Vanity, nothing more.”

“Or maybe they’re a calling to something better, a greater destiny. And you would just deny it?” The look he gave you was strong, determined, _stubborn_. It was something that always sent your heart swooning and tempted you to officiating your union as a couple. But your parents hated one another, and honestly you and Oswin didn’t feel it was worth the trouble. Friends with benefits was good enough, it was simple that way. But right now Oswin was looking deep in your eyes, trying to tug out the cold dead dream to sway you onto his side. Part of you could give in right then and dream a little, but the fear of feeling so broken by how unattainable it was kept you stalwart.

The chuckle you gave was dry, “If I’m denying some sort of great destiny, then God is welcome to tear apart this backwater life and toss me to the wolves.”

Such a harmless little dare, one in a million surely. One you didn’t think God himself would care enough to make good on. The last you saw of your farm was the barn on fire, long time quarreling neighbors motionless and red on the ground, a cruel contrast to the sun shining bright for the viking raiders to find every man, woman, and child, as far as you could tell not a single soul escaping either slavery or death. You among them.

The chaos slipped away as you were led by ropes through the woods. Forcefully sat down on the ground with the other girls, with friends you’d known all your life. Some were still crying, some were like you, so far away the world was only a shade of itself. There wasn’t anything any of them could say, no comfort for the trauma they had all experienced. To you, the worst part was filtering through all the dead in your mind, trying to find a single one that looked like your mother and father, your brothers and sisters, saying the names to know for sure they were not of your blood.

The only thing to bring you out was a sudden hand gripping your jaw, nails digging into your cheeks as you were forced to look up at the assailant.

Surprising you, he spoke in your tongue. “You are not crying like the rest.” It was a smooth sound, as smooth as his features shifted. While you sat he towered over you, a cane seemingly the only thing keeping him up. He bit his lip looking you over and you caught how full and cracked they were, the intensity alone in his light blue yet dark eyes revealed his every chilling thought. He looked all the more intimidating with markings etched into his skin twisting from under his white shirt, his dark hair kept neat in tight and intricate braids.

Glancing across to Adney and Wynflead, girls you played with as children, Adney was still sobbing with blood in her red hair and splattered on her dress. Wynflead was tear stricken but sullen now, her black tangles more like a gate from the world around. You wondered the horror you’d been saved from witnessing, a family slaughtered, a lover lifeless on the ground, instead you were thrust in a limbo of the unknown, shellshocked by the relief of what you didn’t see. Maybe you should have been crying anyway. It was hard not to feel like this was your fault, that some careless goad to an omniscient being was actually heard, heard because a goal so far fetched as to become a Princess and Queen was denied by a peasant. The doubt and blame flipped so quickly nothing could settle in your heart to comprehend.

Looking back your captors brow raised, glad you returned. “You know how to wash clothes?” You gently nodded, his calloused hand still roughly cupping your jaw. “Good.”

The man beside him, a shorter, ganglier one you hadn’t seen, short blonde hair, nothing there but longs bangs, wicked green eyes and a mean smile clipped by a burn covering one cheek tossed a pile of odd and dark set of clothes at your lap. It was black dyed leather inlaid with metal and chainmail and splattered in the gore of your village people. You gasped and dropped the leathers on the ground, blood smeared along your hands and dress.

A demeaning couple of pats hit your cheek with the back of a hand, snapping you out of your horror. Looking back up, the one who had taken such an interest in your grew a devilish smirk, suddenly making you feel very abandoned by God, that the Almighty flat out tossed you in Hell for your stupid bet. “You are not crying, try not to start while you are washing my clothes, I don’t want tears rusting the metal.”

He walked away with a chuckle, the cane giving a loud thud and his feet scuffing stiffly in the soft soil. You gulped down the heavy lump in your throat, the need to cry hitting you like a lance. It was a game to them, a game even to The Lord probably. The silly little girl who wanted to dance in tiara’s, so unsatisfied with the quiet life of farming, now had to endure the barren life of a slave.

Looking to the girls, they looked back at you with the same sort of cold disquiet you felt suffocate your heart. Taking a deep breath to stave off the nausea, you gathered the clothes and stood, to wash them in the river you played in as a child, clouding it’s murky waters with the blood of people you’d loved and hated, people you’d known all your life.

It felt like your soul was being kept behind a fence from the world, trapped with memories, desperate to crawl over and simply be but the dead kept dragging you back down. It was frustrating, it hurt, it broke you when the vest came up clean. Somehow it hurt more to notice the slaves ignore it, used to one another breaking down as they did their menial chores.

As the sun started setting you followed the others, hooking up the armored leather with the rest. After it was all set to dry, you tapped on the shoulder of one of the more meek looking girls. A frail short thing with thin pale hair and unusually wide blue eyes, only made wider by her shock of being talked to.

“Excuse me, where do I go now?” The blank stare she gave said everything, she didn’t understand the Saxon language. Upon seeing the disappointed look you took, the small woman resolved to help anyway, putting her arm under your’s and leading you into the heart of the camp. The gentle smile she offered was an ease quickly cherished.

A bonfire was alive and barely contained as the many warriors, some you recognized as the men who ruined your home, barked in laughter and drank. The slave girl gestured to the crowd and it was easy to get the idea she was asking which one had sent you on the errand. Even thinking the word master felt wrong. Slowly you pushed away the word and down the wave of sick it caused, gauging the many faces, looking for the one that spoke to you so crudely, a face not easy to forget. Seeing that hungry smile of his you pointed.

The sheer amount of dread that drained the slaves already pale face shook you.


	2. Chapter 2

The slave was frantic, taking you to the tent and forcing you to sit on your knees just inside the door, adjusting you to look ordered and polite. The slave even went so far as to fix your hair and dress, her breakable hands twitching and thin mouth wanting to say so many things but unable to. It was intimidating how much this stranger worried for your well-being, just because of the man who took you. Ivar, she made sure you knew.

As the slave stood up, looking at the scene that was before her, she was about to leave when you grabbed her wrist. Gesturing to yourself, you spoke your name plainly. Giving a tired smile and a comprehending nod, the slave had a sweet voice made for singing. “Thurid.”

You two stared at each other for a moment before you said in the only language you knew, “Thank you.” Thurid understood the tone, the look in your eyes. It didn’t seem to ease her, sullenly shaking her head in the universal no. The sound of a thud and two scuffs reached her ears and Thurid charged out of the tent, head bowed and hands threaded in her lap.

Where her frame barely brushed the curtain, Ivar’s consumed it. He licked his lips, an amused smile at the sight of you waiting patiently. “I swear, you Saxon woman were bred to be slaves.”

Clamping your jaw shut to stop from saying anything, he still caught the bristle. Tossing the cane he chuckled, slamming down on his bed, immediately relaxed as his legs rested wide and he rolling up the sleeves of his shirt far too loose on him. “Didn’t like that did you?”

Comfortably sitting forward he gestured with two fingers for you to come to him. You could have crawled out of your skin before obeying. Something about being told what to do unhinged you, started a nest of wasps in your head. Carnally handsome as he was, there was such a darkness in him, something that made you instinctively want to thrash from him and everything he had to say.

Unclenching your jaw, Thurid’s pale gaze came to, reminding you of your true position. You stood, getting close but spitefully staying out of arm’s reach. However, his reach was clearly underestimated.

Like a viper he snatched an edge of your pale blue dress and ripped you forward. You had to gulp down the spiked fright, the scream still sitting in your throat. Ivar took a long savoring look along your uniform, swinging the skirt this way and that.

“You didn’t clean your dress?”

You chewed your own teeth, the sweet tone he took doing well to brew up your wrath. When you spoke it was a surprise how much of a growl your voice held. “Didn’t think it needed to be.”

“But it’s all bloodied and dirty.” he lifted the front slightly to show, but the purposed way his knee drifted in didn’t go unnoticed. The fabric crumpled, keeping a hint of your bare, exposed like a nerve.

Again having to unclench your jaw, you tried to lean back, the muscle of his arm swelling to counter the pull. “I’m a farm girl, I’ve been covered in worse.”

Watching his hand rise to touch your face, you told yourself you’d be strong and not move. However when his finger tapped the corner of your eye, still raw from wiping away tears, you were shamed. In contempt you instinctively snapped your head to the side. Tightening the grip on your dress he drug you back to him, closer to him, caging you to allow him to do as he wished. The touches were oddly gentle, a stark contrast to the amount of strength he put in keeping you close. “I hope you didn’t ruin my armor.”

The sheer amount of shallow the gab was cracked all resolve and you smacked his hand away.

There was no shift, no indication of what he was going to do when in a simple second you were spun around and sitting in his lap, the shout barely registering as coming from you. You were starting to understand Thurid’s panic.

Ivar’s ‘gentle warning’ was a hand clasped around your throat, your stiff spine giving him free range to bury his face behind your ear, the feel of his warm breath forced an involuntary shudder and panicked your heart. Satisfied with such a reaction, he forced you closer, your hands jumping to futilely hold his wrists at bay. It was all so humiliating, the toying, the fear, the _submission_. That wasn’t who you were, the kind of woman you had once dreamed of being.

“I knew you’d be a fighter.” moving his thumb a fraction he licked your neck, you yanking away only to have the hand tighten, you gasping on instinct. Ivar’s deep chuckle dripped into your chest. “But you should know, if you can’t learn to _submit_ ,” using his solid grip he gave a subtle shake by the neck. “I _will break_ you.”

A large piece of you wanted to look him in the eye, demand respect like you knew you deserved. It spurred something that hadn’t risen in a long time. The little girl who made flower crowns and called them gold and jewels. Who sat in a circle with her friends and they pretended to rule Mercia. Who wanted to play a great game of feminine control and trick the country into bowing down to someone who was once just a farm girl. Biting your cheek you let him grab at the knee of your dress, edging it up, feeling the slight chill of night ghost around your ankle and shin. In a sigh you felt like crying you were so frustrated, so furious with your inability to fight back. A little farm girl shoved into complacency over and over again. So easy it was to do what people told you. This could only be bearable if you did something different, _be_ something different. A heat flushed under your skin as you spoke words you’d probably regret. If you couldn’t have control over him, you would have control over yourself. “If I say no will you kill me?”

Ivar froze, pulling back slowly to look at you, calm in your resolution. Clearing the hair from your face you could see his smile from your peripheral. “Why do you ask?”

You gulped, hesitant to look him in the eye. “…to live is always preferable.”

The hand on your throat finally descended but not in a better place. As the tips of his fingers trailed past your collarbone, they slipped under the loose rim of your dress, caressing over your nipple till the taunting spin was all you felt. As your hands tightened trying to deny the thrill it slithered down your stomach, Ivar roughly cupped and squeezed the sensitive flesh, forcing a whimper. “You think you could go through with that? Knowing I slaughtered your village and burned your home?”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, the urge to spit on him not easing in the least and you could swear red was inching into your vision. “Are you really going to worry about what I want or what I can handle?”

“That is so cute.” He mocked. “You really think you can give up so easily?” your dress was roughly lifted higher, a calloused hand splaying flat in the inside of your thigh, caressing up and up to more tender skin. The heat of his open mouth attacking your neck, a bite too sharp making you hiss and push against him, you did everything you could not to fight, to stop the trembling his claustrophobic assault caused. The more you tried to pull away the tighter Ivar’s arm around your waist tightened. Feeling the scrape of roughened fingertips rise alarmingly close, touching the sensitive curls rose a panic once again.

And you continued to refuse the need to rip him away no matter how much the turmoil thrashed at every muscle. There was a knot in your spine growing, this need to be volatile, to claw and bite your way free if only to tear him apart more. As Ivar’s fingers teased along your slit, you flinched to discover something odd about yourself. It slid easy, the roughness overshadowed by… could it be arousal? Arousal to what exactly, in this moment you’d never hated someone more in your life.

Ivar bit his smile, pressing in, your clit far more alive and desperate than you realized. The urge to beg, plead with him to stop because you didn’t understand what was happening filled in your throat, only coming out in a sob as your legs tried to push him out, working against you as it only pressed him closer. “What’s the matter? You’re soaking in my hand, why not let me play with you? I promise I can make it feel good.”

Your mouth went dry, gasping loud as he dug further, filling you without warning or preparation but it didn’t matter, you were so slick the walls softened quickly. The fire in you stroked so suddenly it was terrifying. Ivar laughed at your attempt to get away, pulling on his hands and squirming to twist out of his arms, as solid as a vice.

“What was that about letting me do what I want? Or is it just too shameful for a _Christian_ woman to enjoy anything?” The question helped still you, feeling yourself stretch and pulse around his fingers, feeling them coat and smear along your thighs. Holding back the moan welling up had you breathless and shaking, remembering how much tighter everything felt to hold back, almost to the point it hurt to deny yourself the small release of crying out. Every time he pressed in you shook a little harder, your breath escaping all over again. Somehow you managed to stop resisting and calm yourself, managed to find a few words of encouragement rattling around in your head and you straightened your back.

The pressure inside was loosening and tightening at the same time, his fingers in a smooth rhythm, palm rubbing against the inconsequentially needy bundle of nerves.

“Oh you are _impressive_.” Ivar nuzzled against your neck. “Should we see how far you can go before you start crying again?”

You choked on your anger, gasping a reluctant and furious breath as you stiffened all over again. If you just had someway to control the situation, you could do this. Retreat into that other secret woman and keep safe. Licking your lips while Ivar bit at your neck, you tilted your chin for him to better hear. “Wouldn’t that be a bit repetitive for you?”

He laughed against your ear, heating it, twisting his hand in a way that made your whole body flinch and nearly give him what he wanted. “You have no idea.”

Reaching up, not caring that your hand was trembling, you touched his neck. It was warm under your fingers, softer than you expected and all you could think about was putting indents from your nails, bruises as a reminder for later you could in fact hurt him. No, that wasn’t a strong enough image. _You wanted him to bleed_. Bleed like he made so many others.

Wordlessly sliding up in trepidation, you reached the nest of intricate braids. Again they felt soft, again you hated it. Ivar’s mind wasn’t capable of softness, surely the rest of him should reflect that. Yet when he was genuine and laughing by the bonfire with those around him, he was beautiful. The firelight gentle on him and his eyes filled with a warmth girls could weep to. Threading your fingers around them, you yanked hard, the heat in your chest fanned to a blazing degree, feeling it like liquid molten coursing through you and instead of burning you away, you felt stronger. The snap forced him to look you in the eye, forced Ivar into an estranged level of equality. In his uncertainty he almost looked scared. It felt good.

Like an animal who didn’t realize they were playing too rough, you asked in the most innocent way possible. “That hasn’t gotten boring?”

The wide blank expression grew into one of the most mischievous enjoyment. “So that is how you want to play?”

This time you proudly didn’t scream when he displayed that impossible mix of strength and speed, thrusting you down on his bed, lost in his scent and his gaze. Ivar loomed above you, already breathing heavy, a subtle tremble you saw only in the edges of his loose clothes. Having him like he had you moments before came with a blooming satisfaction.

A breathless laugh escaped him. “Okay, alright,” Ivar sat up on his knees, pulling off his shirt and your skin raised at the sight, “I’ll take back my little comment about you being a bred slave.” He slammed back only inches from your face, heat radiating from his chest through your clothes. Seeing the real deal, broad, defined and painted in dark ink, you were now realizing just how much stronger he was than you. The things he could take if he wanted, and you only wanted him to break all the more for the offence. “A slave wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack me.”

“Are you saying you didn’t like it?” you trailed your nails lightly up his sides, the threat presented, his skin going prickly from the anticipation alone, his body moving to align with yours as you teasingly grinded along his body. For a split second you held doubt, so very unlike the woman you wanted to be, the fire in your veins flashing in cold pain. Taking advantage of the momentary fear Ivar harshly gripped your jaw and forced a drowning kiss. It sparked the insult you needed, your hand springing up and ripping him back by the hair again, him laughing at the nerve you had.

Your legs were tight around him, trying to steal leverage he easily had the higher ground on. Ivar’s hand dropped to your throat without even looking. A snap of his hips shocked a gasped from you, from the shaft that smacked atop your core. As you pulled back harder on his hair, he squeezed tighter, you forced to let go when you felt light headed. Courteously Ivar released you as well, you sucking in air while he shook his head. Rasping, you were powerless to stop him from rubbing himself between your slit. It sent a quiver, an honest to God aroused quiver to your legs. You had never been mean before, a little demanding in the sheets sure, but never downright brutal like you were feeling.

Something glinted in the torchlight and you didn’t get to look afraid long before the knife delved into the belly of your dress. First slicing up, then his hands ripping down the rest, the dress nothing but a robe now, the exposure shivering you.

Ivar came back down, purposely smoothing his inflamed body along yours, the knife waving loosely between two fingers, daring you to take it from him. “You do know, as my slave I can kill you whenever, for whatever reason. And no one would shed a tear. Do you really want to keep luring my retribution?”

Gulping hard, your hands disappeared between you and him, finding his fabric and pulling him free, giving a testing stroke he either ignored or relished in the impressed look on your face. Feeling that angry knot well low in your hips, you guided him in. A hand on his hip as you did the work for him, Ivar gasping as your walls closed in around him. The knife was lifted and tight in his hand, threateningly below your chin while he closed his eyes tight, pulling in and out to coat himself in your slick.

You stared into him, panting at the full press of him against your thighs, grinding and rolling his hips, hitting spots that had your back arching. There was a small rhythm, so taunting it somehow tugged up your throat the order for him to go faster.

In a break he regained his composure enough to look at your heart, pressing the tip of the knife there, as if the rest of you was non existent until you fought him. The bite of it cutting in provoked you. You would just be one of many for him, girls who cried and squirmed and bled for him.

Carrying a hand up his shoulder, you cupped the back of his neck, getting his attention before Ivar could continue to trail you open. The other lightly placed on his wrist taunt with a firm grip on the handle. You two stared at each other as everything paused. Gliding down, your fingers gripped his so comfortable with the blade. Cautiously you slipped it into your hand, turning it, pressing it to his windpipe, waiting for red to engulf the room.

You didn’t make an order like you thought you would, didn’t push him off or slit his throat. Your whole body was throbbing, spinning a coil to feel him pulsing out of tune in and against your body. When your legs tightened they quivered, pulling the rest of him back in.

The breath Ivar gave was heady and shaking, pressing against the blade you stubbornly held in place. Pulling back and slowly in you, he gasped at the sensation of your nails digging into the nape of his neck. Ivar snapped in, the pleasure it brought beyond any of your control and a sharp gasp escaped.

Starting a rhythm you tried so hard to keep yourself from coming undone, too stubborn to continue to give him the satisfaction. But it was hard to concentrate on yourself, on the blade, on your hand keeping him to it all at once. Ivar taunted you when he slowed again, or perhaps himself, with entering and leaving slowly, feeling every inch stretch and fill, the breathy whimpers filling the tent. They only escalated as he started beating himself in your cunt, ruthless and somehow you enjoyed it more for that. The pleasure was such a hard drive it had your body taunt and eyes closed as you cried out.

Something dropped in your mouth, slipping past your lips and the taste of iron dissolved around your tongue. Looking up blood dripped down around the knife, on you, a small droplet hitting your breast. As Ivar snapped against you one dropped into your mouth again and you licked the corner of your lip, taking all of it, the drink of his very soul edging you closer to release. His thrusts lost their tempo, face not tearing away from yours as he suddenly went rigid, crying out and giving a few more hard slams as he came completely undone above you, in you.

Hands tingling they dropped from him, the handle of the blade twisting anxiously, like it was whispering for you to keep using it. Ivar bent down and licked a long wet slide from the rim of your ribs up to your collarbone, a hiss chilling your teeth as his tongue stung the small cut he had from your flesh. Coming back up his tongue was coated in the darker red, small streams trailed in confused paths up his chin and down his collar, a few more drops hitting your sensitive skin.

Why didn’t you kill him?

Putting a quick teasing kiss on your lips he pulled the knife from your hand and shoved it under his pillow. A hard smack on your thigh startled you and he laughed. “Me and you are going to have a lot of fun together. I wonder who is going to die first…”

Why didn’t you kill him?

Ivar rolled off, the breath knocked from him. Tentatively he traced around the long wound on his neck, smearing the blood before looking at it. Licking your lips the taste still hung around your mouth. Sliding your hand down your chest, it came up wet and red, thankful lying down helped keep the tears in your eyes.

_Why didn’t you kill him?_


	3. Chapter 3

You could count on one hand the times you stayed awake through the night till morning. Working from dusk till dawn, day in and day out, had a way gifting anyone with a dreamless sleep. However, it seemed a mind turbulent and lost was a good antidote for sleep. You needed to talk to someone, straighten out the past day. A heavy breath left realizing it had really only been a day. From morning till now you hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t the time to think, only do.

And the things you did, you could still taste them.

Laying in his bed attempting to untangle your own mind was lasting an eternity. Everyone tucked in for the night. Their shifting, their snoring, the owls in the distance, the wind whistling on occasion were the only echoes of life.

The blood itched when it dried, helping to agitate and distract you from any sort of peace. Sitting up you looked around at the room. The torchlight was low, but not out just yet. Crawling out of bed you checked your tattered dress, pulling it together to see if you could hide your nakedness. It didn’t help much, the top tough to hold together while the bottom wanted to swing at the sides. Seeing his shirt on the ground, you put it on underneath, now only having to hold the bottom. Traversing the lifeless hours you made your way to the river, the chill of it as you dipped your hands in stung like a well earned penance.

It was renewing, shedding the clothes to your waist and bringing the water to your torso, sucking in the cold winds to blow away the ash of all the heat of the night. Rubbing in the water, bringing more to your body gave a hard shiver, your teeth starting to chatter. Looking up to the sky while you worked, the stars were dimming, a deep blue grey starting to fill the world above. Coming back down you were shaking uncontrollably, just about ready to take all you could handle when a small voice spoke your name.

Startling and covering yourself, you relaxed slightly to see Thurid and a few of the other slaves from earlier. Her thin face was a constant state of worry now that you had entered her life it seemed. She quickly came up and dropped to her knees, her fingers examining the many blemishes on your neck, finding spots of blood you missed. Part of you was grateful you couldn’t explain, the other felt guilty you couldn’t calm Thurid.

She ordered two of the other girls and they both ran off, coming back in a sympathetic haste with a bowl and rag, a spare dress in the arms of the other. They kept banter in Norse as you were quickly cleaned off, hair included. If you were shaking bad before, now it was giving you a headache, begging for the sun to come up faster.

There was a heart stopping second Thurid realized the blood couldn’t have gotten to the places it reached from the kitten scratch on your chest. Thurid’s hand slowed and her eyes hard wiping some of it off from under your jaw. She didn’t seem to say anything to the others and you really wished you could speak, Thurid seemed like she’d make a really good ally to have.

Being quickly dried off you tossed the dress on like your life depended on it, rubbing the goosebumps out of your arms as the fabric blanketed.

The half filled bowl and rag were pushed to your arms and you took them, not sure what they wanted you to do with it. Giving thanks seemed wrong to say it in a way they couldn’t understand, you needed them to know how much it meant to have them caring for you like this. You gesturing between you and her, “How do I… thank you?”

Thurid thought a moment before nodding, “ _Þak_.” you repeated and she smiled, nodding and saying it approvingly. With a slight bow, you thanked her, truly thanked her. A few more girls walked by, a few more exiting a tent filled to the brim with other slaves.

Two things occurred to you as you watched them enter and exit back to the river. Slaves didn’t sleep in their master’s bed, and the bowl was for yours.

Back in Ivar’s tent, the sunlight reached the ground and was bright through the slits of the curtain. Finding the nightstand you placed down the bowl and stared at it. A sighed came slow and heavy, on the verge of a growl. All the cold was gone from you now, something you could throw yourself back in the river you missed it so much. Huffing and twisting your fingers, you glared at the golden light reflecting into the tent, opposite of where you wanted to glare.

“Is this the part where you kill me?” Ivar’s voice was heavily groggy and yet the smile was heard nonetheless.

“No…” _I should_ , “Couldn’t sleep is all.” you mumbled.

Amidst rubbing his face the bowl must have caught his eye, “Oh, did you mean to be a good little slave and clean me?”

You bit your cheek hard enough you worried it would bleed. “I mistakenly took you for an adult and thought you could do it yourself.”

He snickered, a choked sound as he sat up. “Well why don’t you learn some humility and clean me up hm?” Ivar motioned to his throat. “It’s your fault after all.”

As much as you wanted to make some clipped remark, you silently conceded you were in fact the one to cut him as bad as you did. Glancing at his smug face as you rung out the rag however made it impossible to feel bad about it.

Your heart may have already been in an angry hammer but somehow it still sped when you sat down beside him, your thigh heating next to his blanketed one. Still you kept it purely clinical, ignoring how the angry dark line repelled you, made you want to shudder with the memory of him pressing into the knife where you wouldn’t, his cock throbbing excitedly inside.

Ivar only watched, a serenity to him as if he was still dreaming. A finger came up to gently trail along the frame of your face, taking to playing with your damp hair. You refused to let it halt you. “What is your name?”

You supposed it _would_ be good to know the name of the person who wanted to kill you while you force them to sleep in your bed. Prolonging the question out of pure spite, you rung out the cloth and only answered in a near whisper, starting to rub away at the thick and tough stream that had dried in the direction of his pillow. You supposed you’d have to clean that up to.

“You look tired.”

“I can manage.” you growled.

Brushing aside your hair he got a clean view of the damage he’d done, much like the cut revealing itself, a scabbed dark red line about the length of your finger. Ivar bit his lip, slowly dragging it across his teeth as he released it. You could feel the kiss coming under your skin. It pulled on you, teasing the idea of biting him if he dared. If only you had a leash to teach him what boundaries were.

The hand came up to cage the back of your head, you stiffening and tossing the rag on the bowl. “I’m not doing this right now.”

He chuckled, ever amused by your defiance. “Are you really going to be a bitch about this, right now? You’re tired right? Just lay back. Relax. It’ll be over soon.”

That only spurred you more, and with it that strange knot, that need to torment and deny him as long as you could. Judging by the glint in his eye, getting you riled up was exactly what he wanted. So you didn’t. You huffed and calmed yourself.

Tightening the hand in your hair he pulled you into his mouth, nipping at your bottom lip till you gasped and Ivar tickled your tongue with his, testing your resolve. A strong hand cupped your backside as he tried ushering you to sit on his lap, your hands coming out on his shoulders and your knees digging into the bed to keep the distance. The silkiness that played along your tongue, urging you to join stole your breath, a small moan escaping to quell the vindictive fire he caused. It didn’t work.

He snapped back with a shocked cry, a trickle of blood sliding around the curve of his lip. The tender skin was torn, welled and already set to bruise. To keep your strength, you threw on a look of stern regality. “I said, NO.”

“ _So thirsty_ ,” he was suddenly struck breathless as his eyes wildly dodged in yours. “You like seeing me bleed don’t you?” as his smile grew you tried twisting out of his grip, desperate to not face the answer. “Well I see no reason in parching you.”

He thrusted you back to his mouth, the kiss angry and avenging, both hands clasped around the sides of your skull. Ivar bit you back, perhaps meaning to make you bleed as well but he broke in a laugh when you cried out. The taste of blood on his lips, the memory of it dropping into your mouth, you shivered as your nails dug into his chest and stomach. You licked at the fresh wound unintentionally, finding the ability to be the one making him bleed where warriors couldn’t an odd sort of erotic balm. Ivar moaned against your lips and it broke you out of the intoxicating lure. You shoved yourself out of his grip, him having gotten too assured you were going to stay.

Taking shaking steps away from the bed you kept your back to him, rubbing your mouth, swallowing away the blood. Regaining your senses and catching your breath, you shook your head with a curse. “God _damn_ you Ivar.”

He laughed. “Oh I’m sure he already has.”

You heard the bed shift, something moving from the nightstand. “By the way, you forgot this.” taking a cautious glance back he tossed something glittering across the room to you. Catching it, your mouth watered at the sight when you turned it over. “So they know who you belong to.”

It was a gold bracelet, the band an elegant double twist, one side left incomplete for anyone of any size to wear. The ends were carved into identical beasts, snakes by the pattern of scales and the small fangs. You could only stare at the sunlight making the gold warm and shining off your very skin. You couldn’t imagine how far back the generations went since your family last touched gold. The farm was always a floundering endeavor, your hands always covered in dirt and grime because they couldn’t afford more help. Rotating the circlet the cold metal felt like lightning had struck the earth around you. The meek little farm girl kidnapped in a Viking raid, holding a pure gold bracelet.

“I take it you’ve never seen gold before?” Your head flashed up to his ever pompous smirk, “Maybe you should thank me.” Your awe dissolved into a glower as you left with it, not putting it on until he was safely out of sight.


	4. Chapter 4

The day went as you expected a day for a slave to go, until it didn’t. By noon you were getting weird looks or snickers from the free people. The slaves would pause in awe before ducking their heads and continuing on. When you came across the heart of the camp, you saw why.

Ivar didn’t even try to cover up his cut or busted lip, instead parading himself around like some sort of trophy as he sat with what you assumed were the other commanders. When his eye caught you he was all smiles, calling and motioning for you to come over. You walked up but stayed a few precautionary steps away. Ivar motioned for you to come closer and you got by the way his leg was out he meant for you to sit in his lap. You crossed your arms and shook your head with a look that said he was crazy.

The agitation was almost immediate and he ordered you to come.

It was then you wondered if Ivar mistook ‘personal slave’ as some damaged form of ‘lover’. He didn’t seem to have any others, the girls terrified of being the ones chosen for this forced intimacy. Thinking back to your questionable willingness, the strange easiness that came with giving in if only in the context you were allowing it, you straightened your shoulders and walked up to him. When his hand landed on your hip with a winning smile, the tug paused at a flinch when you put a hand on his cheek, his smugness melting as you bent down and kissed his lips.

Coming back up you said stubbornly neutral, “I have chores to finish.” and walked away, his grasp weakened by your fingers trailing on his cheek in a loving manner.

After avoiding him the rest of the day you only met again in the night. In the tent Ivar seemed to have just sat down, taking off his boots when you walked in. To see you bloomed a cheeky smile on him. “What was that earlier?”

You ground your teeth before answering, kicking off your shoes because you knew he wasn’t going to let you sleep anywhere else. “I can play nice, as long as your face can take a beating behind the curtain.”

His laugh died slowly as you lifted the dress over head and crawled into bed without saying anything. The air was awkward, hearing his shirt slide off and tossed to the floor, leaning back onto you as he threw off his pants as well. The blankets rose and he scooted closer, his bare chest heating your back, tensing you. An arm wrapped under yours and around your chest, pulling you flush against him, your backside snugly cupping his softened prick. Your heart squeezed, a breath trying hard to shake off the anticipation as if he was rock hard and pushing between your thighs.

Ivar’s hand wandered, finding the bracelet you still hadn’t taken off. “You don’t have to wear that to bed.” You didn’t answer as his fingers carved around it, a chuckle escaping him. “Do you like it then? The one thing you can stand about me?”

You sighed, throat too tight for it to be quiet. It was questionable if you should answer that, you didn’t want to give him a weakness to prey upon but the words felt good to slip out. “I was fascinated with gold as a child.” he hummed, his head adjusting to be more comfortable on your shoulder.

“How can you be fascinated with something you had never seen?”

Your fist tightened at the memory, a wicked envy thickly weaved into it. “Queen Kwenthrith, back when she ruled Mercia had come through my village. The window of her carriage was open but she didn’t greet us, instead looking in a mirror as she fixed her hair. The mirror glittered, it’s silver back carved in flowers, inlaid with tiny rubies and emeralds. I had thought there was nothing more beautiful. Until sunlight hit her crown. It was of smooth solid gold and when the sun touched it, I saw it light up the inside, making everything glow like magic.”

Ivar was still very idle, only interested in your story. “Well why didn’t you go get some yourself, you love it so much.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t just want gold, I wanted to be a Queen, like she was. Everyone huddled around her wagon yet she too above us to care, decorated in priceless things like trifles.”

“Why didn’t you do that then?”

Dejectedly you parroted your father’s words. “It was a dream as far away from me as the stars.”

Ivar didn’t seem impressed with the reasoning. “You should have done it anyway.”

It tugged a sad laugh out of you. “How? I wasn’t born into royalty, I didn’t even live in a capital I-”

“You could have been a legend.” he said it all so nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off the bracelet he played with.

“Ha! A legend?! What do you know about legends _Heathen_?”

“Legends are not made by following reason, they are made by doing the impossible.”

The words resonated in you, looking up at him in question, like it was some riddle you couldn’t solve. Ivar only glanced and shrugged, going back to playing with the band while you thought like it was painful to do.

Clicking his tongue he distracted your silent conflict. “Why did you give yourself to me last night? I’d never known a woman to do that when you clearly didn’t want to. You didn’t even cry about it.” he cocked his head concluding with a smirk, “Well, you didn’t cry as your village burned either.”

You were starting to like the simplicity until he mentioned your home. “It felt good to hurt you, getting revenge I suppose.”

His chuckle only spurred you further. “That’s an odd way to get revenge isn’t it?” Hot breath against your ear, his whisper a hiss like he was the devil himself coaxing that violent flame from you. You felt like Eve trying to be good and refuse such delicious temptation. “Getting fucked really showed the error of my ways.”

Echoing from the furnace of your chest, the muscles of your arm scorched as you shoved him away. “Ivar, I’m _tired_.”

He looked at the decent distant you shoved him. “Not tired enough it would seem.”

Sitting up with an agitated sigh, you rubbed your eyes that had been burning with exhaustion but now was lost against hate and lust. Snapping back at him you politely stated again despite his wolfish smile having your belly tight. “I am tired, and I think you need some time to recover as well.” You flicked the welt on his lip causing him to jump back with a hiss and put a protective hand over it, making you genuinely smile knowing it must have hurt pretty bad. The skin was scolding under your finger even for that brief second. “If I make you bleed any more you might go cold by the morning.”

Tossing up the blankets you buried yourself in them, letting the heat dissipate around you. Yet Ivar scooted back to you, more relaxed this time, his arm draped over your waist but not searching. He sighed into your hair and licked his throbbing lip, the dim firelight dancing behind you as sleep took over.

* * *

Late in the night and you were alone in the main hall, alone on a singular throne. A gold crown adorned in drop shaped rubies. A dress of red, banners of red, rugs of red, red against the shadows the firelight couldn’t keep at bay. Alone and red. You sighed back into the hard wall of the magnificently carved seat, your legs parting to touch the sides, firm and strong like the yellow metal that decorated and glittered the edges.

You felt the hands before bothering to see them. Skimming up under your dress, heat being left behind like a stream that rushed and pooled low in your stomach. The breath that left was as hot as the hands trailing up past your knees, a smirk tugging at your lips. Tipping your head back, you helped him bunch up the blood-dyed silk high above your thighs, above your waist.

A slick heat flicked at your core, pulling a sharp gasp that dissolved into a moan, the sound of it echoing in the empty hall. The hands teased and gripped your thighs, tightening the coil before licking again, making the heat of his tongue stronger after the wet left behind had cooled. He scooted himself closer, a moan of satisfaction as he sucked and lapped at your sex. You were quick to fall into a rhythm of gasps and sighs, loud in the Great Hall. Your legs found comfort in drapping down his back, heels digging in, trapping him in need.

You wanted to thread your fingers through his hair, wanted to look down at his face but couldn’t. There was a high in showing how far below you he was, how little he could mean to service you and still you wouldn’t grace him with acknowledgement.

A build up was happening, in your head, your spine, your very core. Legs shook and hands gripped at the dress while your hips bucked against him for a drawing release, the gasps had turned to cries, shouting back at you from the shadows-

You heard yourself moan lewdly as you woke up, looking around in the brightened morning tent bewildered. It was slow to dawn on you the events of the past couple of days. Oh yeah, you weren’t a Queen or a farmer, you were a slave.

Sighing heavily you rested back on the pillow, the body next to you tauntingly soft and warm. You hadn’t had a dream like that since you were a child, and it certainly never went like _that_.

It left you feeling unfinished and unsatisfied, a gaping emptiness within. Empty of love or purpose, empty of wealth of any kind. A golden glint caught your eye, the bracelet tickled in fur and somehow it was comforting. It was rich and lovely, masterfully crafted as you trailed a nail along the eye of the serpent.

Thinking of home made your stomach drop and not in the way you expected. You were angry, angry in the way Oswin would get when you tried to tell him dreaming of anything great was a mistake. Your father always said dreams of being written down in history was foolish, your mother always quietly conceding when you fished for any semblance of hope. Guilt riddled you for the way you talked to Oswin. Ivar could have used the information you gave him as a whip to beat you down like your father did, like you did to Oswin. He didn’t, he made you dream again. It was hard to tell if that was better or worse.

The body behind shifted slightly, but remained passive. Ivar was using you, and as far as you knew he was too temperamental to be clever about it. Yet when you racked your brain and surroundings for comfort, he was all you had to crave.

Popping a few knuckles to ease your nerves, you rolled over, taking yourself slow by trailing a finger along the encompassing intricate tattoo adorning his chest and shoulders, curving around his back. Following a wolf along his rib his chest bounced and his hand lazily came up to stop yours, his voice cracked and graveled. “Mm, tickles.”

“Oh?” Your fingers slipped from his and crawled around up his side making him squirm and laugh more, grabbing your hand and pulling it over his shoulder where he bade it to stay.

Relaxing back on the bed, he searched around your relaxed face with hooded eyes. “Should I have let you get a full night’s sleep sooner?”

“You think I hate you any less?” throwing a silky leg over his waist you sat up and straddled him. Ivar was glowing in pride, suddenly wide awake to feel your cunt chilled from your dream and glide along his shaft, enticing him to harden quickly. With a smirk your hands glided up his chest to trail your thumb along the hardened scab of his neck.

Rolling his hips, rubbing against your excited clit, Ivar snickered at the satisfied sigh that escaped your lips, “So you’re just in a better mood to abuse me now is that it?”

You thought it better not to answer, still too afraid to face that truth. Bending down and pressing your lips to his, you found a balm in the softness, in the slight smile he couldn’t hold back. The welt on his lip was still warmer than the rest of his skin but it didn’t seem so tender to him anymore. Sucking on it the memory of the metallic taste stuck in front of your teeth had you grinding your hips against him.

Ivar’s hands threaded through your hair, the kiss becoming insistent as his tongue pushed past your lips and he bucked, rubbing himself along your soaking slit. Unfortunately for Ivar, every tap under your thighs tickled you more, making you giggle to keep denying him.

Getting demanding Ivar let out a cross between a moan and a growl, you nibbling on the sensitive skin of his lip to get him back in line. He hissed and glared at your smiling face, both distracted and curious in letting you grab both of his hands and put them above his head, holding them in one hand while the other came down to teasingly stroke him.

Ivar’s breath ghosted around your face, spitefully staying angry with your insolence. “You can’t keep me here.”

“No, but you’ll stay.”

“What makes you-” his sentence fell in a gasp, you whimpering to take him in. You rocked your hips, taking his cock deeper, feeling full and stretched like you’d been aching to since you woke up. Ivar had tossed back his head, his body taunt as you wrapped around him so entirely.

Patted his face for attention in the same demeaning manner he did you when you first met, you put a warning finger up when his eyes opened. “Don’t touch me.”

Ivar smirked at you, hands disappearing behind the pillow of his head. Sitting up, your hands so pale and clear over his decorated chest, you ground down on him. Rubbing your clit in circles on the skin and curls you watched him agonize over the waves you sent through him, his eyes touching everything he wasn’t allowed to. Lifting up your hips, you came down hard, getting a wonderful cry out of him.

Trailing your nails down his chest, they dug in as you put your weight on him, bouncing to fill that emptiness inside, to push out the chaotic tempest in your head. Feeling only him, brain too high to keep up the debates of right and wrong, your rhythm grew hard, hips rocking Ivar till the bed screamed underneath.

His hands jumped out to stop you, firm on your hips until you slapped him across the cheek. With labored breathing, you restated your order. “I said, _don’t touch me_.”

Ivar’s words were shaking, the skin under your clit throbbing as he twitched to the sting in his cheek. “I don’t want to be finished-”

“Then don’t be.” She shoved him down hard, the look he gave you near pleading as your own hands glided up your body. The sting in your hand was numbed by the equal heat of your body, your vanity stroked to a high like you’d never felt before. As you threw your head back and rode him you felt beautiful and powerful, so far above reality. Tauntingly you kneaded your breasts, something made very clear he was not allowed to do. The only thing of the material world you bore was the bracelet reflecting warm against your skin, making you thirsty to see more of its enchanting beauty cover your body.

In a hard thrust you reached back to your bruising pace, already built up close to climax again. Ivar sat up on his arms as his own coiled him for affection you tried to deny. Grabbing his face you drank in his moans, crying into his mouth as you tried to kiss him.

You tasted metal, licking along his lip as you realized during his fevered biting he split open your bite again. It drove you over the edge, legs quivering under the ecstasy as you rode yourself out, him already spent by the time you came down.

Bending down, you kissed his cheek, pink where you hit him. Surprisingly it made Ivar smile, tilting his head and kissing you, the wetness from both of you lips making its break loud.

“Do not think I won’t get back at you for that.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You are a shit slave you know that.” Ivar’s harsh words only made you smirk, the pride in your eyes infectious and he had to hold back his own smile. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

You simply shrugged, the smile now stuck.

“I was thinking about it, and maybe you just don’t know how to be one. Maybe our first night gave you the wrong idea.” You hummed pretending to be hardly interested.

In truth you had been waiting for this night, wrongly craving his revenge on your abuse. The past few days his men took up most of his time, plotting and arguing, leaving Ivar too exhausted and short tempered to even talk when he got back to the tent. You didn’t mind, slipping into a healthy routine by day and dreaming of a succubus in the shape of a throne by night. As much as you supposed it was time for your due, all you could think about was the knife on his belt, how lovely he’d look with it carved into his dead heart. God help you, you hoped he felt the same way.

“You ruin my dress you’ll have to get me a new one.” Now he only hummed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him. “A nice one. One to insult your Noble ladies.”

Ivar chuckled, hands slipping to your hips to stop you, inches from his face he craned to look up at you from the low bed. “Is it such a good idea to insult my people?”

“Nothing would bring me more pleasure than disgusting a bunch of heathens.” the prospect of you hating everyone around yourself always brought him to laughter. “Besides, I’m special aren’t I?”

“Oh?” His hands rubbed about your thighs, sliding back around your backside and hugging your thighs to his chest, resting his chin on your already throbbing belly. “How do you figure that?”

Lifting a hand you gently stroked his hair. For the first time since you met him it was down and wet, neatly pushed back but spread in a tail between his shoulder blades, a more wild tres threatening to fall over his ear. Pushing it back you charmed him, “I’m yours.”

That break of vulnerability showed through again, something that tugged and curious you, tempted you to see him as human. In a lick of his lips Ivar put back on his bravado and leaned away from you for his own protection, “You don’t want me ruining your dress, then take it off.”

You made sure he saw your smile, that he knew you saw his moment of weakness and was kind enough not to use it. Dragging your fingers from his skin you were slow to bunch up your skirts, dragging them up and over your head. Even letting it fall and kicking it to the side was a lingering tease.

You supposed if he had been ugly, if Ivar was old and stupid you would never have been so willing, especially in the beginning. You had to look at the truth one day and you found it as you watched him sleep and the firelight danced his skin golden. You were utterly entranced by his beauty. Because he _was_ beautiful, his eyes brimming with a wild intelligence and you were trapped in more ways than just being his slave. Having his eyes roam you after the pause in your escapades, no matter how short, felt hair raisingly satisfying, and you denied the urge to chastise yourself for it.

After not being quick enough with his next order, you put your knee against his cock, leaning in until his quickened breath misted between your breasts. “As a slave, I was under the impression there was one rule, make you happy. Have I not done that?”

Too distracted with the rush you instilled in him, Ivar kissed on your heart, stroking an arrogant fire in you especially with the little cut, his evidence of hurting you long gone while his was still pink under his chin. Hands came up to brush every inch of your free skin, tugging and pulling on the more plush and sensitive flesh while he feverishly kissed and sucked and nipped at you like you were holding some back.

Running your nails along his scalp, keeping his dark hair neat you sighed. “Look at you. A leader of the Great Heathen Army with my knee on his dick and still he whimpers for my touch.”

Ivar slowed, not looking up at you as he kissed along your ribs. You’d made him angry with that one, and the fact you weren’t dead yet was wonderfully exhilarating. Sliding your hand down, finding a grip under his chin, your nails dug into his cheeks as you forced him to reveal his glare. “I thought you were suppose to be teaching me a lesson.” you chided. “Or am I special? _Am_ I different?”

A shift under his eyes seemed to tickle him, a sharp smirk grabbing him as Ivar realized what you were asking for. Trailing your fingertips along his throat, gently they enclosed and threatened him the way he did you back when you still struggled. Biting his lip Ivar kept you in anticipation, thinking over his words. “You are right, being mine always makes the girls special from the other slaves.”

You smiled at the little game he was trying to play, trying to lump you in with the rest. As a little punishment you pressed your thigh into his shaft, it’s hardened state gliding up your leg and getting suffocated in his breaches. “And the girls before me? Am I not different from them?” you tilted your head like he was hard to hear, waiting for the words to heat up your ear. “Tell me Ivar, tell me what I want to hear.”

He held you close, brushing his smile along the rim of your ear. “Should I make you the Queen of Slaves?” He nipped at your lobe, “ _My_ Queen?”

The last two words tingled you from head to toe, feeling like your whole body had been licked in fire. Your breath was tight as you sighed, it hitching as he gripped your hips and tore you away from him and the bed. “You’ll have to earn that title.”

Your smile grew mischievous, already having something in mind from your days Ivar spent closed off. Pulling a black cloth he often used as an accessory from his wrist you wrapped it over your eyes, tying it gently but firmly in the back. Using his thighs as props to help you descend, you found them more thin than imagined, but easy to ignore in the moment. You sat on your knees between his. Running your hands up, squeezing and tugging on the junctions, you were careful not to touch him where he was desperately needing it. “Would this suffice? Entrusting myself to you completely?”

His sigh brushed down your face as he sat forward, both hands entangling in your free hair as his tongue fell in your mouth before his lips closed yours. He was suffocating with his kiss, shifting as your hands toyed and freed him from his trousers. Ivar broke for a moment to feel you tug on him roughly, fast to harden him fast. “Only if you say my name.”

You chuckled, scooting closer, letting your hands pinpoint to your destination. “Should I call you King Ivar?”

Before he could answer you teasingly brushed your lips on his cock, finding the length and width, finding his tip to suck onto your tongue.

The thick heat filling your mouth seemed so much more with the blindness. You had your eyes closed when sucking a man before, but trying to open them only to find nothing, with just the one sense gone the others were clawing to make up for it. The breath pinching into moans above, his scent so laden with iron from his weapons and armor and kills you were sure his soul was tainted with it, tasting the bitter salt of him, hearing his clothes shift as his fingers curled back up into your hair, spinning the tresses into a nest and pulling your head back, the roots collectively heating from the tug. You were gasping to take in so much all at once.

A playful smack hitting your cheek had your breath quicken so fast it was almost like not breathing at all, Ivar amusedly smearing your own spit around your lips and chin. His thumb delved into your mouth, you quick to suck what you didn’t get to finish in his lap. Overwhelmed of sensations, his smooth voice made you shiver. “I hate how I can’t seem to put you under my control. Even this feels like you have planned every moment.”

There was a pause before Ivar admitted, his thumb pulling on your suction as it left to admiringly rub your lips again. “You would make a good Queen.”

The words came out without any thought, “Thank you, Ivar.” Because you genuinely did appreciate the sentiment, feeling the words glowing in your heart to have him, have anyone acknowledge that.

The chuckle he gave only excited instead of anger like it would have in the beginning, knowing him well enough it wasn’t to mock you. The grip in your hair tugged you back to his lap, feeling the shaft on your face still hard yet cold from wet neglect. Your tongue darted out quickly to warm it again, sucking him back in till he tapped at your throat, the sudden jump in temperature having him cry out. You bobbed to bring his shaft to the fire equal of your mouth, Ivar bucking till the sharp contrast was soothed.

“Thank me again.” He gasped.

Your words were sloshed from not removing him from your mouth, thanking him by name.

Ivar’s hand got insistent, trying to pull himself in deeper, “Yes again, thank me again!”

You whimpered your muffled thanks, making him awe and laugh as it felt like he threw himself back.

“You feel blessed being my slave yet!?” Ivar held you still while he thrusted up into your throat.

The energy through him infected you, now thanking him over and over, your breath shaking as you pushed your own boundary, taking him deeper than you’d taken men before. Ivar’s hand became solid, forcing you to stay there as his hips shifted, you shaking your head to feel the tip sliding around inside.

His hand was suddenly gone and you come up with a sharp gasp, uselessly licking your lips they felt so hot and swollen. The hand came back to grip your chin, your bottom lip falling between teeth till it pinched, then roughly shoved you back at the chest. It made you laugh as you barely caught yourself on your elbows. It was like even satisfying him frustrated him. Your legs lazily fell wide revealing how wet his weak attempt at ‘revenge’ had made you.

You knew this wasn’t at all what he wanted. Ivar had been thinking all week of ripping you apart as much as you’d been doing to him, make you bleed and cry, whimper and be denied. Yet the game had flipped on its head and he descended between your legs, his mouth on your cunt the first and only thing you felt from him. Your legs shook already, his tongue lapping at the already worked up clit, so hungry and hot on you it echoed through your quivering body and you were thankful for taking off the dress. As your legs clutched, falling over his shoulders smooth and bare of a shirt, one side shook, working his cock as he shook and rooted on you, the pace quickening as you cried his name over and over, your hand nested and pulling his damp hair.

His fingers trailed your slit before delving deep in, the pleasure inside and out bringing you to ruin. While the orgasm was being stubborn your body arched and bucked on him like it was your first virgin experience all over again. Honestly you weren’t sure if you were orgasming this whole time or if someone could be that good. Then again maybe it was the blindfold, every little detail of his tongue mapping you, the long strokes, the flicks, the wayward exploring, the appraising moans, it was a brazenly clear path on touch alone.

Your own nails dug into your thighs trying to control yourself for him, your cries getting pathetically sorry as the ecstasy felt like it would consume you and never let go it drug itself so slowly through your body, pooling in your head till your teeth tingled. You wanted to ask if Ivar was somehow doing that on purpose with more of his strange magic to get back at you.

You were sensitive almost immediately as the high came down, weakly fighting him to stop which of course Ivar laughed at, a rough hand on your knee to hold himself up the only piece of him left touching you. “Interesting to see the abuse is instinctive.”

You gulped trying to wet your now dry throat. “Huh?”

Ivar brushed over your thigh and your leg flinched feeling a sharp sting, four small cuts tender to the salt of his hand.

Body heat suddenly engulfed you. Ivar pulled up the black cloth from your eyes, them slowly opening, hazing and blurry when they found his face so close to yours. All you saw was his blue eyes, pupils blown wide and only focused on yours, like a cat about to strike.

His hands entangled in yours, lifting them above your head as he slide his shaft along your clit, scolding and throbbing as it was smoothed between you two. “I’ll have to remember if I don’t want to get cut, I better tie these claws of yours up.”

“Like I don’t feel your knife brushing my leg.”

Ivar chuckled, still rubbing his shaft on your hypersensitive sex and you powerless to run away from the sharp sting of it. “Are you afraid of my knife?”

You smirked, neither of your eyes leaving the connection for a second. “Only of how deep it can go. You bled a lot when I cut you, I wondered if I would wake up and you would be dead.”

“And that scared you? Scared you might not be able to drink me again?” Ivar shook his head at the memory, “Seeing you lick it from your lips as it spilled felt almost… sacrificial. I wonder why more people don’t like it.”

You chuckled. “Because most people don’t like blood and pain.”

He grunted, finding it harder and harder to keep himself at bay. “Yet every time you drink my blood you get ever more accepting of me. Like the more I give the more you become _mine_. You must have been starving when I took you.”

You bit your lip, not sure how to fight that. It was partly true, when blood touched your lips, _his blood_ , you felt elevated, his Superior and Victor that remained uncut and unbroken. Everything around your ego shifting was addicting and you still hadn’t found anything to replace it.

Suddenly Ivar dipped down and filled you to the hilt. He grunted pulling in and out, your panting at the sudden onslaught sapping his air, the tugging for freedom under his crushing weight making you aware of the fluttering in your heart, only matched by his.

What little oxygen you had was stolen in a wet kiss, the swirling and lapping of tongues and moans may have been sultry and loud but they were gone in his thrusts. The rug was of an animal hide and thankfully silky enough to save your back as he slammed into you, not caring for anymore foreplay, and it was fulfilling to be so ravaged. Raising your legs above his hips, the strides hit as deep as they were hard.

Your fingers were cold he gripped them so strongly. With his head buried into the crook of your neck his grunts were loud against your ear. You found yourself wanting to pull his hair, to scratch down his shoulders, yet your arms only flinched under his strength. You pulled harder, just to see, then again, _harder_ , making him really put in his strength in holding you still. He growled, crushing your hands into the ground and you laughed at his struggle.

Infuriating Ivar with how little you cared for his intimidation or his strength, he sat up and pulled the knife from his loose belt. You shifted, trying to hide the way it spiked your already speeding heart. Shocking you he cut into his own palm, making you squeal when he dropped his gushing hand over your mouth. The sticky iron spilled in past your lips, blooming in your mouth. You clawed to release yourself, to deny the metal climax it always brought you to, but he was able to grab both hands and slam them above you, shackling you with only his forearm you were so weak in vain ecstasy.

He found no issue with starting up his bruising pace, your muffled screams a horrible contrast with how quickly it brought you back to the precipice. Holding him tight with your legs, the only appendages that could affect him, they trembled down to the bone to taste Ivar again. So thick and overpowering as it trickled down your throat and you swallowed every bit, every muscle relaxed to his every whim.

It was him to laugh above you now, so pompous in knowing it would twist you as such, one of the few times he could say he had any control over you. You muffled something forcing him to let you go.

“What was that?” He panted.

You couldn’t hold back the red smeared smile, Ivar really shouldn’t have let you speak. “ _Þakka fyrir Ivar_.”

He cried out, grinding in as deep as he could force himself, eyes screwed shut as he spilled himself under the gratitude, the hand dripping a steady stream of red droplet along your mouth and neck.

Exhausting himself, as soon as his high came down he collapsed on you making you grunt awkwardly because you weren’t expecting it. Forcing in a breath you began petting his back, lingeringly licking the last bit of blood from your lips that you could.

In a loud sigh Ivar rolled himself off, the missing heat making you shiver. You watched him as he worked on catching himself from the clouds, trailing your eyes over every little detail like you did often now.

Shifting to your side, you tangled your fingers in his, watching the blood from the fresh cut spill out and drip onto the ground. In the silence your brow knitted in concern. “What would you do if I got pregnant?”

You watched the peace in his face fade, edges turning hard in a pain deeper than rended flesh. “You won’t.”

“You can’t possibly-”

“ _You won’t_.” Not being able to look at you Ivar shook his head and whispered. “None of the other girls did.” you were about to ask how long he had his other girls exactly when he abruptly changed the subject, able to turn his head to look at you again. “I didn’t know you were learning Norse.”

You grinned at the obvious dodge, though the unease of becoming pregnant by someone like him didn’t shake. You couldn’t imagine raising a child whose parents were so volatile with each other. “The other slaves have been teaching me, well, trying to. Thought it might be easier for me to get around. And to understand the things you mutter about me under your breath.”

Ivar chuckled, tapping your nose as he rolled closer. “You would probably like the things I have to say about you.”

Hand dropping to your hip and neither of you had much else left to say, only staring into one another while the buzzing in your heads swam, the blood having slowed a little with you held it closed.

“My Heathen King.” you teased.

His smile was so big and genuine it warmed you with something else, pleased to see him so blissfully happy. “My Slave Queen.”


	6. Chapter 6

“We need to talk about your slave.”

Ivar snapped back behind his drink. He looked in the general direction he last saw you, then back to the rigid young soldier, Oleg, looming over his Commanders breakfast. Glancing innocently to Hvitserk, who avoided him with a smirk, he apparently already foresaw this confrontation and never bothered to bring it up. Putting down his cup Ivar straightened in his chair. “What about my slave?”

“You need to get her under control.” He nearly laughed when this warrior, this _subordinate_ , crouched down, fists clenched knuckle white on the table as he stalked above Ivar. Apparently just too angry with you to recognize Ivar’s warning glare. “The other slaves are getting defiant. Especially the _Saxon_ ones.”

Ivar rubbed his fingers together in thought, not breaking away the tense combative glower they shared. He could defend you, could brush it off as nothing, could stand up and bark at this ill-mannered glory seeker, instead he waved for an idle slave to fetch you. The glower melted away, baring his teeth in a more friendly manner. “How is it any of my business that you can’t put a handle on your own slaves?”

“She spurs off orders and on more than one occasion she’s bossed the free men around. We are warriors, not her dogs. More dangerously, it’s inspiring confidence and talk of-”

When you stepped up the stadium Ivar noticed the subtle roll of your eyes at the fuming Oleg. Politely you walked to Ivar’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder as he did your hip. “You knew about this?” apparently everyone did and never thought to tell him.

Lifting your nose with a terse and bored look you answered while glancing at the warrior twice your size and ready to twist your neck, spitefully speaking in the Saxon he barely understood. “ _I didn’t think it worth your time_.”

Oleg snarled, shoving himself up and dropping from the stadium, the people creating a circle when he spun and challenged with an accusing finger, “She makes you look weak Ivar! We’ve all seen the evidence, a slave and _Saxon_ ,” he spit out the word, “hitting and cutting a free man, a leader of the Great Army!”

The crowd turning to Ivar, he only shrugged with his confident smile, playing with your hand in his, “Not all battle scars come from the field.”

The crowd snickered, Oleg turning ever red by it. “She needs to be made an example! Whipped like the dog she is so she understands her place!” Ivar rolled his eyes making you smile. “Does it really sit well with everyone that a Saxon, the enemy, is making a mockery out of our leaders strength! That she sees herself above us! Soon the others will start acting up if something isn’t done _now_! No slave should be able to overpower a free man, let alone a leader of the people!”

You asked tilting your head with a wide innocence, asking in a mock pity, “ _Do you have a hard time fending off little Saxon girls Oleg?_ ”

He whipped around and snarled at you, “ _You_ are a _slave_! You will speak when spoken to-!”

“ _I am **Ivar’s** slave_.” The crowd didn’t expect that answer, nor the harshness that came with it. Ivar felt a wave of pride burning through him. Bringing you in this did risk you boosting the slaves into a rebellion, but the little claim let both them and the free men know, you _did_ still see yourself as a slave, just a special one, _his_ slave.

“A slave is a slave! You bow to _every_ free man and woman!”

A show of submission, that’s what this was. He wanted you to bow to Ivar, to all the free folk, humiliate yourself for their enjoyment. But you’ve never bowed to Ivar, he knew you sure as hell weren’t going to bow to his underlings.

Puffing your chest you interrupted his inane barking, speaking very clear and solid Norse “If you are jealous of not having a slave who wants to kill you, I assure you, there are plenty who do.” The heads of the free people were spinning they were so shock-still. Behind them the slaves exchanged looks, some disturbed while others holding back a smirk. “But if it is as you say, a slave is a slave, I suppose I could come to your tent and cower below you…”

You turned to Ivar, every bit of his amusement drained. With a smirk you pulled up his hand he was holding, showing Oleg just how serious a scenario like that would be. The sheer amount of hate Ivar could show with his whole body would certainly rain down upon anyone should what’s his be taken. You brought his hand to your lips and said lower in Saxon, “ _Cowering because it’s clear Oleg has to torment lowly servants when he doesn’t know how to please a woman._ ”

The crowd ooh’d in two waves as some had to translate, Ivar breaking out in a wolfish grin and his hand clutching yours in satisfied tension. He could jump up and take you right there in front of everyone for boasting him like that.

“Enough-!”

“You say one more word Oleg, I will kill you.” Ivar lazily turned back to him, the smile having slipped only to show his seriousness. He lifted and presented the gold band idly swinging on your wrist, “This was given to her for a reason, _she is mine_ , no other man may touch her, and if that means she has to order you around to make sure I am pleased, then so be it.”

Olegs mouth jumped open to argue, stopping when Ivar raised his finger. “One. More. Word.”

The man’s chest was heaving, eyes wide and dodging around as he fought with his own rage and fear. Kicking the dirt he charged away, knocking people and things over as he passed. Soon the crowd mingled and dispersed, you taking the empty seat next to Ivar as he played with your wrist.

“I do hope I’m not causing trouble.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “The young ones do that sometimes. Gives them some sense of glory to stand up to me.”

You relaxed against the chair’s back with a smirk, “It takes a lot of bravery to stand up to you.”

“Or stupidity.” he hummed

“And which one was I when we met?”

“Stupid.” You barked out a laugh making him snicker. “You had just been enslaved by a warlord and your reaction was to pull his hair? You were lucky I didn’t kill you.”

“And what was I when I put the knife to your throat…” You coyly passed a cherry tomato between your teeth.

Ivar gave a long sigh, melting into a dreamy smile, “Divine.”

You leaned close and pressed one past his lips, the now free hand slipping under the table and into his lap as he ate. “I still remember being so conflicted that night, you were so beautiful above me.”

“Beautiful?” he teased, running the back of a knuckle along your lips, adjusting his legs wider for you to touch him secretly and perversely. “I would think a man ready to rape you by the point of a knife would be a scary thing.”

You rubbed along his shaft, soft in the public but still formed enough for you to follow, “That’s why I said conflicted. I never hated someone so much in my life.”

He hummed in interest as you took back your hand and fed him another tomato, enjoying the look of the small red vegetable passing between his lips. “And now?”

You chuckled. “I can’t say I hate you, but I do still love seeing you cry and bleed.”

It made his smile dark to hear that, pulling your chin to kiss you, “You are going to make it very hard to find a wife.”

“A wife?” Ivar craved the way your eyes slitted with suspicion and jealousy, despite the fact if he wasn’t married now chances were he never would be. They already sang songs about his celibacy toward the whole concept. “Who says I would let you have one?”

“Oh? Let me? You are my slave, you don’t _let me_ do anything.”

Now you were only picking at your food, him seeming to of soured your mood with the thought of another woman coming into his life. “It’s true I’m yours. But you are mine. And I don’t share.”

“But-”

“ _I don’t share_.” you stated more sternly, glowering at him.

Ivar lifted his hands in defense, amused with your possessiveness. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect a Queen to let her King disgrace her with adultery.” he teased, pulling your wrist back to him and kissing your knuckles.

It broke a smirk on you, “And don’t you forget that.”


	7. Chapter 7

You watched Ivar closely from your tent, watched the woman, Ingunn, talking to him, shifting hips from side to side on occasion, twirling her hair freshly freed from her blonde braids. Your nails were digging into your crossed arms as the jealously scorched at your heart. Noticing, Thurid leaned to you whispering.

“My Lady, I do not think you need to worry. Ivar takes loyalty very seriously, and I have been watching, his loyalty extends to you.” The formality came so naturally to her since the fight with Oleg. While you did warm a little every time you heard it, you couldn’t be comforted by her words right now. 

Jealousy was a new concept to you and you were at a lose in how to manage it. You loved so casually and loosely before, it was only ever fair to offer the same courtesy. Yet here you were, fuming with the idea of other women so much as smiling at Ivar.

Your jaw clenched at the thought, feeling like so much was in danger. If she took Ivar, she took what you could never obtain before. Your Throne. One only Ivar could fashion. She wanted his power and his magic, and a part of you, a very  _very_ dark part drifted to the idea of killing her for even thinking of taking your dream. Of taking him away from you. 

The more you thought about it, the easier it seemed to do.

Your only distraction was a pulsing deep in your gut, not arousal, just a random pulsing that would sometimes move into cramping. You figured your cycle would come soon and your chance to win back your place would come to a screeching halt. Huffing, you turned in the tent, suddenly feeling very tired, exhausting yourself on rage alone.

“We have a small cask of wine lying around camp?” You called for Thurid.

“Yes, would you like me to fetch one for you?”

“Oh no I can-” Pulling back the curtain, she was already speeding down the makeshift alley and out of earshot. “Or… you can do it.”

 

* * *

 

You didn’t even notice you had passed out as soon as you laid down when upon waking up, you felt that much angrier when Ivar still hadn’t returned and night had fallen. You knew it was stupid to be upset he hadn’t willingly chosen to stay in the tent all day when it was still summer, if anything you were ridiculous for having done so, but your stomach still twisted, chest still burning thinking he spent all his time with  _Ingunn_. A repulsive picture of them smiling at each other salted you, sharing their experiences as warriors, sharing far more than that while you slept away in the tent.

Growling at yourself you sipped the wine Thurid left, glaring at the tent curtain, alone, furious. Your womb throbbing away.

You waited. And waited and waited. The seconds taking longer as they grew many waiting for him to come back to you, from  _Ingunn_ probably, enjoying her free warrior woman company compared to your… defiant…vicious slave company. 

You rubbed your irritated eyes at yourself, what was wrong with you today? You didn’t know Ingunn outside of the name told by Thurid, her attractive appearance, and her interest in Ivar.

All rationality went out the window however when Ivar did return, drunk and barely able to keep standing on his cane, a big smile greeting your brooding glare. Ivar took a long look at you, nearly tipping as he did so. “ _Why_ ~ do I feel like I walked into a dragons nest?”

You huffed slowly at him very much like a dragon wanting to protect it’s territory and it only served to humor him more. Stumbling to bed, the smell of mead wafting to you, Ivar crawled the way up to you while you remained bitter, sipping your wine.

“Are you going to eat me?” He teased, hands at either side of your hips, looming himself in your face, his eyes lazy on your lips. “Devour me? My angry Queen?” His head dropped to nip at your neck and as much as you were trying to be rational, you couldn’t help but take it like an insult. That he wasn’t goading you to play but mocking your truer status, his insolent slave. The furious tug in your spine was stroked just right and you harshly gripped his hair pulling him back, aggravatingly making him laugh. “Don’t touch me, I’m not in the mood for you-”

Your head slammed back into the headboard as he roughly grabbed your chin, his finger achingly pressing into your cheeks. “Oh come on! I can barely feel that!”

The drink made him unaware of his own strength, making every muscle in you want to fight him more for being so careless. “That’s because you’re drunk!” You tried to shoved him off but he always took the greatest pleasure in fighting, wrapping an arm around your waist and ripping you down from your sitting position. Your cup slipped from your fingers to the ground and Ivar crawled on top to straddle you, his big smile engulfing your edging red vision. You growled from below him, “Get off me Ivar.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, sitting forward on you to tangle his hands through both sides of your hair. He tugged in just the right ways he knew you loved, almost feeling more like a massage as he watched your face determined to stay angry with him. The grip you had on his wrists loosened to simply holding him, letting him play. One rough hand scraped down your cheek and his thumb caught the corner of your mouth, snuggling the digit between your submissive teeth before he ripped at your hair causing you to bite down.

It was all a game to him, giggling as his tipsy head came down, pressing his forehead to yours, the drink on his breath and the smoke clinging to his clothes suffocating you. His thumb trailed down, you letting it go to feel those hands of his spread the wetness across your jaw before gripping your chin into a rough kiss.

You couldn’t fight how good it felt to have his mouth on yours, to have him all to yourself. You were Ivar’s slave, his only slave, making him belong to you just the same. The fire he put in you would raise an army to keep it that way. Your throne may not be bathed in gold  _yet_ , but it was beside him nonetheless.

When he broke the kiss, Ivar sat straight up and clapped a decently hard smack across your cheek. “Why are you giving me nothing tonight!? Where is my savage Queen hiding!?” he shouted, probably getting the attention of half the camp.

The seething glare you gave Ivar bringing your face back got a satisfied and wild white smile out of him. Licking the inside of your cheek, the heat down your stomach flashed harder feeling it only sting, feeling gratified he hadn’t made you bleed.

“Ivar-” He slapped you again, the sting sharper from the same cheek being so tender. “I’m not-” When his hand went to swing again you caught it before landing a third hit and threw him off, hopping from the bed before he could grab you again.

He let out a childish whine, “You are not really going to leave are you!?”

Already across the tent you yanked the belt off its stand hard enough for it to snap at your calf. It stung, but it only made the wet fire between your legs ignite more than the slaps already had. “Oh? You think for that, I’d just up and leave?”

Ivar tensed looking between you and the belt, the drunk smile not leaving for a moment. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”

He laid very patiently, watching your face as you tied his wrists together. When you were done you lifted them both and tied the remaining leather on a type of hook he wasn’t aware you placed some time ago deep between the headboard and the mattress. There wasn’t a peep from him, rather enjoying the view of your chest swinging around in his face.

“I feel like you are genuinely angry at me.” he questioned as you came back to straddling him, a shiver running down his spine at your glares murderous intensity.

“I’m not angry.” you said very calmly.

“No, no, you have just been giving me dirty looks since got here-”

“I’m not angry!” You snapped and Ivar had a hard time not laughing at you. “Shut up or I am going to slap you!” He didn’t say anything but his chest bumped in laughter.

Giving a tug on his reins he was startled when something clocked and his arms jutted to a stop. “Oh~” you teased, amused by the shock in his eyes, “I’m not so funny anymore am I?”

Running your hands up under his shirt, he was breathing fast, a small panic at being sincerely helpless for the first time, especially by the hands of you. You spoke and touched him gently, trying yo ease him into a calm; that no, you weren’t going to kill him. If you were you had plenty of times to do it, but you supposed Ivar just wasn’t used to the concept of not being able to fight back.

“Release me.” he commanded.

“Now why would I do that?” Your hips shifted on his, ironically now the one feeling lustful while he lay beneath angry. You leaned close with a smirk, Ivar keenly aware you were unclasping his knife from his belt. “You wanted me to play, now I’m playing.” Feeling the handle in your hand, making your knuckles ache and twitch to use it, you kissed him. The fervor he kissed you back with boasted you, feeling like he was wordlessly and desperately begging you. Your confidence soared even as you whispered against his lips, looking as deep as you could into his blue eyes, “Have faith in me Ivar.”

Lifting up, you took the knife and lifted the base of his shirt, positioning the blade to cut. Looking up you noticed Ivar keeping his eyes shut tight. “Ivar…  _Ivar_.” In a shaky sigh he glared viciously at you. “I want you to watch me.”

A long uneven sigh left him before complying. Biting your lip you cut the lip of the fabric, feeling emboldened by the resistance and give of the shirt, revealing his gorgeous body in a slow stride. Purposely you left a bit uncut and ripped the rest of the way causing a gasp to leave him.

You sighed, running a hand down his inked chest, low to where it wasn’t. You smiled at Ivar but he held only his fury, as much as it was starting to wane into the bump you felt under your hips. 

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Hmm…I don’t know, you look like if I let you go you’ll kill me-”

“I am going to kill you!” he spat, his hips rising to grinding against you.

You laughed, his eyes dodging to the door as his body tensed under you, trying to pull himself free. It was a lovely sight seeing every muscle in him thicken, the determination to destroy the bed if it meant he could destroy you. You were utterly lost in the display when he roared, “Let me go!”

You waved the knife around like a toy, “Oh please, how many women have begged you those exact words only for you to ignore them?”

“Is that what this is about?” He sneered, “Revenge for women everywhere? That’s why you’re angry at me?!”

Glaring and pointing at him with the blade, you said again, “I’m not angry.” Ivar rolled his eyes, tossing his head back on the pillow. His whole body jolted when the sharp point of the blade pinched the center of his chest. “But by the time I’m done with you, women everywhere will know who you belong to.”

The confusion on his face only lasted a moment before you pressed deeper, dragging the blade slowly down in a straight line. Your heart was beating painfully fast seeing the beads of red well up, every nerve pulsing in a strange excitement, tingling and twisting into a wickedness you never knew you were capable of. You almost didn’t want to stop, but the wave of relief that shed through his whole body when you pulled away was unbelievably satisfying. You hurt him, really physically hurt him. The evidence would stay, mark him for at least a week, but he would bring with him into his dying day the night he was at the mercy of his victims own sadistic desires.

Though when you set the tip down again, him tensing in anticipation, Ivar watched you, a wide fascination on your bitten smile. Releasing your bottom lip you leaned close and met his face. The free hand ran along his cheek and when you kissed him he shuddered, a foot digging into the mattress to grind his aroused and high cock into you.

You chuckled, “Were you really afraid you wouldn’t like that?”

Ivar couldn’t answer, groaning as you pressed your lips under his ear, kissing along his neck, following to his collar. Your thumb trailed down the small wet red line, the salt of your finger pulling a hiss from him as you dipped lower, kissing amidst the blood and staining your lips as you came back up. He trembled a sigh at the shade it left.

Pressing the blade horizontal to the first one, you drug another line, shorter that the first making it quicker. This time hungrily covering it with your mouth as soon as you lifted the blade, rolling your tongue to fill with the iron and sweat of him.

Sitting up, his shaft twitching as you swayed your hips on top of it, you ran your hand down his chest, the red vibrant against his golden and painted skin. You whispered with a smirk, “My God.” Ivar’s eyes flew open and you ground into him, waking his own rhythm under you. “My Holy Lord of Light…” His brow crinkled in before looking down at his chest, the Christian cross carved and gutting the great serpent inked into him.

Before Ivar could say anything you knelt down to meet him, “Mine, mine,  _mine_. My God, my world,” You kissed him, sharing the blood staining your lips. “My man.”

His eyes rolled back with a whimper, tugging at the restraints again as you lifted. You had a feeling it wasn’t in desperation anymore. Ivar liked to fight after all, and this was one he never fathomed being at the mercy of.

You made a small cut at the collar of your dress, grabbing the ends and ripped open an inch to get his attention. Once attention had, you ripped the rest, revealing your bare form to the firelight, to the way you hugged him between your thighs.

You had only started shaking it off your arms when Ivar shuddered, “Fuck me.” You looked to his eyes, wild and half mad, his body shifting and rolling like a ship on the stormy waves. “ _Fuck me_ ,” You couldn’t help but stay still and revel in awe at him so helpless before he uttered, “Oh my Queen, fuck me!”

Shaking off the rest and tossing it to the floor, looming over him in mischief you pressed the knife to his neck. He was shaking, every breath trembling as he thought of lifting up to steal more kisses from you. “Your Queen?”

He nodded frantically, his eyes trained to your devious smile, “My Queen.”

“Yours?”

“ _Mine_.”

You lifted your hips, placing on his cock against your naked eager sex. You descended, gasping to take him in slowly, to be filled and stretched in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. Your walls clutched and released around him as you pressed the knife harder against Ivar’s throat.

You began riding him slowly, watching a small bit of red line the blade and smiled. “Say that I’m yours. Say I am only yours, the only one who is allowed to be by your side. The only one to sit on your throne.”

You rocked down on him harder, feeling the bone of his hips grinding with the underside of yours, rutting hard till his whole body shook and gracefully touched and pushed every inch inside you. “Ivar, say it to me!” You demanded. His only reaction was to pull on the restraint and lift himself to see between you, you quickly retracting the blade a touch to not seriously injure him. Though you were getting tempted to with the attention he wasn’t giving you. “Ivar! What are you-!”

In a split second a loud thunk was heard from the headboard and Ivar rose, startling a scream from you, a hand on his shoulder with the blade aimed at his heart while his hands, still bound together clamped around your tiny throat.

You didn’t want to say you were afraid, but you had a certain plan and him freeing himself was  _not_ apart of it. You  _were_ afraid. In his instinct to choke you, in the murderous look in his eye and snarl of his teeth. From him being forced down to you taking what he didn’t want to give. Even still, a small part of you was aroused by the fact he actually pulled himself free regardless, and now you both had the others life in your hands.

In a few hesitant breaths, you saw the wicked gleam start returning to his eye, licking his lips like your fear tasted delicious. “Toss the knife.” He ordered.

Gulping, painfully under his tight grip, the blade wavered on his chest, before you obediently and reluctantly dropped it to the ground. He watched it, his eyes coming back up with such a dark and satisfied glee. He threw you to the bed and rolled himself on top, all the while keeping his crushing grip.

When he spoke it was in your language, growling and carnal, every word like lightning at every nerve it had been so long since anyone spoke it to you. “ _You tie me down, cut me, mark me, fuck me like I am some sort of prized broodmare_ ,” His mouth went slack, moaning and breaking his fury as Ivar drove into you under his rage. He hit hard yet your calls were cut off by his hands. Wantonly he rolled his hips, stroking you deep inside. Tears welled in your eyes, the flurry of mixed emotions, in the fear of what you brought out in him, in accepting you liked this much more untamed unthinking side. Catching his senses again he yanked you closer to his face, your nails digging in his forearms.

“ _The rest may bow under you, but you do not make me bend the fucking knee. You might be the Queen, but I am still the King_.”

He let go of you finally, gasping sharply with your first full breath. Harsh enough to bruise your side Ivar flipped you over, a hand pressed into your back to keep you down as he resentfully slammed into you, so deeply you felt the end of you hit and shudder through your whole body. He kept hammering himself, until your sharp cries melted into something pleased and he lifted himself. 

You heard the bonds being fiddled with, your body teeming in anticipation when the leather was suddenly clapped around your throat, tightened just enough to leave you panting.

Riding like a beast, hard and unforgiving for all your toying and ignoring of his orders, even with the strap you cried out loud, eyes rolling back in some twisted fantasy of being used so objectively. You gasped and called for him, the very least you were able to do between the ecstasy spinning in your head and the bond snugly against your windpipe.

He threw down, grinding long and slow strides as he listened and bit at your shoulder.

“I am your Queen?”

“Mine.” He moved in along your shoulder and bit on you more harshly, making your voice leave in weeping.

The strap loosened just a fraction and your head hung wearily asking, almost ashamed to, “Your only?”

He growled in your ear, not enough of his mind to see the desperation in your face was not from the savagery you took from him. “The only real Queen I will ever know. In this life and the next.”

It released something in you, raising your hand to run through his braids now close enough to grab. As his pace took back speed your fingers gripped them on impulse and he let the strap go completely. His hands fell and dug into your hips, crushing you into the mattress as he used you as leverage and buried his face, moaning and grunting into your neck.

Feeling his body work along yours, his cock nearly slipping out with each stride you were so soaked, you pressed your head against his as your cries filled the tent, nuzzling him with needy affection. In return his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you in a suffocating embrace as he stuttered, releasing himself deep in you.

Ivar all but collapsed on you, but his hands still roamed, teasing your skin in small tugs as he caught his breath.

“I wanted to kill one of your warriors today.” Breathlessly the words slipped out, and with them a stray tear. “She… she was flirting with you.”

He chuckled into you but it didn’t make you feel better, especially after Ivar spoke her name, guttural and lazy with euphoria, “Ingunn.” He was about to get up when he slammed back down, “Wait! Is that what this is?! You’re jealous!?” He laughed louder making you pout and wipe away the tear. “Oh my poor slave!” He grabbed you and hugged you tight, purposely too tightly. “So protective of her master! You are like an angry pup!”

You growled in his arms, “A puppy that will bite you if you don’t stop mocking me.” He released you, brushing your hair from your face so he could see you sulking and teary eyed.

“Does it really hurt you that much thinking I would lay with another woman?”

It did, more than it ever hurt with anyone else. You were accustomed to a carefree life, carefree love affairs, none had ever been so “passionate” in your life. Since meeting him things were yours. He was yours. You shared with no family and no neighbors, and your dreams bade you to fight to keep it that way. You father’s words to abandon your dreams made you such a pushover as the years went on. So weak in the struggle of wanting and taking what you rightfully deserved. You refused to give anymore, no more sharing.

Gulping hard you shamefully nodded.

“You know, no woman has ever felt that way toward me before?” your eyes jumped up, skeptical that was really a possibility. He only shrugged, smirking into a savoring and lazy kiss. Breaking, he pressed his forehead to your temple as he whispering. “I promise you, I will cherish that pain.”


End file.
